Lots of folks thinking about cleanliness lately. My default “see you soon!” send off to friends and family, or “have a good one!” to strangers has changed to a cheerful “wash your hands!” or “stay safe!” The world has begun to seem strangely quieter, yet somewhat sinister. Everyone’s justifiably anxious, and dealing with it the best way they know how.
Staying inside and reading quietly is great if you can. With California on shelter-in-place, my family is doing our best to comply. I admit that we’ve gone out a few times to run around and burn off some of our pent-up energy. I know a half dozen great trails and parks nearby that are usually empty even during normal circumstances. Took a two-mile hike with my daughter this afternoon and didn’t run into a single other person.
And I’ve washed my hands about eleventy-five thousand times over the past few weeks. I’m starting to feel like the Terminator in T2. Not the part where he’s an action movie tough guy, but the part where all the meat falls off his hand leaving nothing but his shiny chrome skeleton underneath.
I was talking to a friend the other day about hand washing, keeping the house clean, and the general focus on sanitation in the world today.
Suddenly reminded about this time years ago I’d gone to lunch at Top Dog in Oakland. For those of you who’ve never been to Top Dog and had one of their variety of grilled sausages, all I can say is I’m sorry, and I feel bad for you. But it’s a counter-service hot dog/sausage place, and it’s awesome, and comfort food for myself and lots of other folks.
This was back in the late 90s or so. I had an apartment in North Oakland, and one day felt like having Top Dogs for lunch, so hopped in my car and tooled over to the Temescal location. Ordered my dogs and had my book to read, and was just enjoying the spring or summer afternoon.
As I’m eating, this guy comes into the store. Regular enough looking, I guess. I seem to recall he was wearing rather nondescript clothing. Shorts, sneakers, t-shirt. Like he was just out running errands, and decided to come in for a hotdog. Fair enough. He starts placing his order, and it was nuts. He wanted the clerk to pull buns out of the bag, instead of the ones stacked to the side of the grill (where they keep them warm). He asked for the clerk to hold up the entire sleeve of paper cups so he could pick his own without the clerk touching them.
“Okay,” I’m thinking. “Germaphobe, no big deal.”
Next he asks to pour the ice and the drink himself. He doesn’t want the clerk touching the cup he picked out. Or the lid, or the straw. Wants to do it all himself so no other person’s germs get on his stuff.
I catch the clerk’s eye, and I’m trying not to laugh, and he’s trying not to laugh and just gives a slight eye-roll. This is weird stuff, but nothing really out of the ordinary for that part of Oakland. It’s so close Berkeley there, that you get all sorts of odd folks around. This is the kind of person I’d assume was a counter-culture hippy back in the 60s, then sold out, made some money and wanted to make sure everyone knew he had money without actually coming out and saying he did. As the saying goes “If you’re rich and weird, you’re eccentric. If you’re poor and weird, you’re crazy.”
So, the guy doesn’t want anyone touching his food, or food containers, or anything because germs. Got it.
Finally he’s placed his order, got his soda set up just the way he likes it, all without any of it being touched by the person behind the counter. Then the clerk gives him the total cost of his meal.
I’m watching in amazement, as this guy… this guy who’s so concerned with germs touching his food, that he won’t even let the clerk pick a paper cup for him… this guy, I swear folks… he bends over, pulls off his shoe, and pulls a $20 bill out from inside it. A limp, moist, sweat-soaked $20 bill.
The clerk took it, too. Made a big show about putting a rubber glove on before taking the guy’s $20. Then peeled off the glove and washed his hands before giving the guy his change. I was frankly amazed he didn't just kick the guy out of the store.
So, anyway. If there’s a moral to this story, it’s that even in regular times, money is dirty and people are weird.
Wash your hands.